


this is where the sun meets the horizon

by BilvyBeckett



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Gen, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts, ultimately a story of recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-06 01:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14631522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BilvyBeckett/pseuds/BilvyBeckett
Summary: Despite everything, the sun rises.From one moment to the next, the daemons turn to ash, brushing against their faces, against the hand that Prompto stretches outward. Over the ruined, blown out buildings of Insomnia there’s a dim glow. A subtle warmth.Or, the days after the war ends.





	1. Year One

**Author's Note:**

> look at me posting a fic in a completely different fandom from my other fics whoops  
> i played this game and fell into a deep dark hole, enjoy this mess of healing and sad boys and comfort and love
> 
> no relationships, technically but like. polyship roadtrip kinda????

Here’s how the story goes:

Despite everything, the sun rises.

They wake up in the throne room and Noctis is gone. They can hear the cacophony of clashing Armigers from the gaping hole in the wall, and the groaning onslaught of daemons lurking behind them. Prompto draws his gun first, but Gladiolus leads the charge back into the arms of the Starscourge infected night.

They fight and fight and fight and fight and at some point, Ignis steps back. He drops his daggers and stops fighting. A soft moment amidst bloodshed, Prompto and Gladio glance over and they stop too.

Ignis walks backwards until his heels hit the stairs up to the Citadel. He falls onto them, staring blindly out at the daemons ahead of him. Prompto sits beside him, gun on his lap. Gladio keeps his sword drawn, eyes on the Iron Giant ambling ever so slowly toward them. Ignis takes his glasses off.

Then, the world pauses. Gladio finally sits on Ignis’ other side and the three of them wait as Eos changes, instantly and silently. From one moment to the next, the daemons turn to ash, brushing against their faces, against the hand that Prompto stretches outward. Over the ruined, blown out buildings there’s a dim glow. A subtle warmth.

Despite everything, the sun rises.

Prompto tries to smile. “I guess he—”

Ignis hums. The sky gets ever lighter, pale, cloudless blue spanning endlessly out over the skyline. Ignis leans against Gladio and places a hand around Prompto’s wrist.

“Could you… Describe it to me?” Ignis’ voice is desperate and delicate.

“There’s ash covering the streets, a blanket of it. It’s mixing with all the dust and rock from before and making it look, like, shiny and violent. It’s left black smears on your cheek. It’s clinging to your hair,” Prompto says.

“And the sky is gold on the edges, and the buildings are all silver against the sky. It looks good, next to all the black,” Gladio adds.

“What colour is the sky?”

“A perfect blue,” Prompto whispers. Ignis sees the magic of the crystal, sees Noctis’ eyes, sees the crackle of lightning as he put on the ring. “Lighter than you’re thinking. Robin’s egg, with extra white. It’s a blue that belongs in an oil painting.”

They watch the sun rise for the first time in a decade. They do not flinch away from their tears, or from each others’ weight. Ignis’ head is dropped onto Gladio’s shoulder, Gladio’s arm wrapped around both him and Prompto, who’s got half his body on Ignis’ lap. The city glows.

“I don’t want to go back in there.” Prompto’s voice cracks.

“We have to, eventually,” Gladio says.

“I know.” Prompto raises his head off of Ignis’ shoulder. His hand raises above his eyes, shielding them from unfamiliar light. He helps Ignis to his feet and they move with Prompto’s hand not moving from the small of his back.

The room looks different, basked in sunlight, king upon the throne. Prompto and Gladio have to look away, but Ignis. Ignis stumbles forward, up the steps, until his fingertips reach out and find the cold curve of Noctis’ cheekbone.

Here’s the thing about victory: it feels a lot like sacrifice.

Ignis traces down Noctis’ face, down his neck, along his collar. He holds his breath as he feels the buttons of his jacket, lets the dampness of blood seep under his fingernails. Cold metal meets cold body.

He falls to his knees.

Eventually, Gladio swallows hard and faces down the scene in front of him. Ignis hears the grunt of effort, the sheer force it takes to dislodge the sword in Noctis’ torso. Gladio just barely gasps when Noctis’ body heaves forward, following the blade as Gladio tries to pull it free.

Prompto cries back at the bottom of the steps, unabashed and devastated. His sobs echo against the stone. Weird, Ignis thinks, that this place used to hold some warmth, that the surrounding halls and towering chairs used to mean safety and home. Now, there is ice seeping into his knees, into his very bones.

Gladio falls beside him, an extra weight now in his arms. He’s tender with Noctis’ body.

“He could almost be sleeping, if not for all the blood,” Gladio whispers.

“I don’t—” Ignis starts.

“His lips are turned up, like he was trying to smile right at the end. And his hands are relaxed, turned to the sun,” Gladio continues.

“Please—”

“He looks peaceful, Iggy. I promise you that this is all we could do. This is all he wanted. For us to stand with him until the very end.”

“He was alone!” Ignis screamed, before his voice died in his throat. “He died alone.”

“Not completely alone.” Prompto’s voice rings out, choked and brittle. “That’s King Regis’ sword. He wasn’t alone, really.”

It doesn’t take the weight off of Ignis’ shoulders. He tries to breathe deeply. He doesn’t think of a child with wide blue eyes and soft hands, he doesn’t think of a pleading father, he doesn’t think of a man made to kill his own son for the good of the rest of the world.

“What happens now?” Prompto asks.

“I don’t know.” And, in that moment, Ignis is telling the truth.

 

***

 

They start with the radios. Prompto cobbles together a device to broadcast a message to all of Lucis, at least to anyone who still has a way to hear it. Ignis drafts the words until they sound right, until they sound official and not like a man who is lost and mourning. It is the morning of the third day when Ignis sits down to record the message, fighting to keep his voice steady.

“This is Ignis Scientia of the Crownsguard of Lucis, broadcasting from Insomnia. The King of Lucis has fallen, leaving none in his stead. The Accursed and Starscourge have been banished along with the Night that had befallen Eos. We are all safe. Insomnia will be set up as a point of refuge and rebuilding, and we urge to those who can, make your way back to the city. We will be establishing resources and trade as soon as we’re able, and are eager to see Lucis and Insomnia back to its former glory. I repeat, this is Ignis Scientia, of the Crownsguard of Lucis. The King has ended the Starscourge. We are all safe.”

It takes three more long days before the first refugees show up. Gladio meets them at the edge of the city, takes them to the nest of buildings around the Citadel that they’ve set up as a haven for newcomers. More people arrive. They are given beds, and meals, and the company of others, which seemed to have been in such short supply before the Dawn.

Ignis keeps himself busy with organising resources. Cindy and Talcott help with sourcing food and water into the city. They get aid from Lestallum and slowing begin to restore power throughout the buildings and street lights all across the city. Iris and Gladio gather search parties for missing people, and Prompto helps establish makeshift hospitals, giving first aid to anyone who stumbles into the city in rough shape.

They set up a memorial in the throne room, one that is open to everyone, though rarely busy. It seems too fresh, still too real to face head on. Ignis visits anyway, and finds himself in the company of Prompto. Prompto doesn’t greet him beyond a soft “hey, Iggy”, but he does let Ignis sit next to him on the cold stone in front of the throne. There are chairs available, but Ignis gets it. They feel too far away.

“It’s weird that he’s gone,” Prompto says after long minutes of silence, “That we’ll always know him as Noct but the rest of history will only know him as the King of Light. I hate it.”

Ignis places a hand on Prompto’s wrist. He takes note that the wristband is still wrapped safely around it.

“I hate it! I want him back! We wait ten fucking years and then we get him back for a day, for nothing. Just for him to go and die.” Prompto shifts until his side is pressed against Ignis. “I don’t know what to do now. I spent a decade waiting for him to come back and now—”

“We just have to keep going, I suppose. There’s not much else we can do. Noct would have wanted us to—” Ignis heaves a breath into his lungs, “Walk tall, right?”

 

***

 

Gladio finds them, late in the evening, mostly asleep on the floor in front of the throne. He scoops up Ignis first, the man barely fighting the arms that hoist him into the air. It’s a short walk to the rooms that they’ve taken up residence in, close to where their old quarters used to be in the Citadel. Gladio lays Ignis down in his bed, removes his glasses, brushes his hair out of his eyes.

He gets Prompto and puts him into the same bed even though his own is only one door over, pulling the covers up over both of them. He nearly leaves, goes back to his own empty room, where the dust still hasn’t been brushed away from the shelves, where the sheets are stiff and impersonal. He hesitates at the door before he unlaces his boots and pulls off his pants. He shifts Prompto and Ignis on the bed until there’s room enough for him and curls up behind Ignis under the blankets.

He doesn’t fall asleep right away. He imagines what Iris would say if she saw him right now, scared and sad and wrapped around his friends in the middle of the night. Scared of being lonely or scared of leaving them alone, he’s not quite sure, but he is sure that he’s scared. He likes to think she would laugh but he knows that she would give him that tiny, soft smile, the one that makes her look so much older.

Ignis shifts in his sleep so he’s face up. Gladio hesitantly reaches out a finger and traces along the long faded scars on his face. There’s a new one along his neck, and several down his arms from hunts and fights with MTs. He glances at Prompto, sees ten years of exhaustion and battles on his skin as well. Most people look peaceful when they sleep, but Prompto just looks old and tense. Gladio looks down at his own hands and wonders how he could have ever called himself a Shield to the king if he couldn’t seem to protect anyone.

It doesn’t matter now, he thinks, being Noct is dead.

He falls asleep, eventually, with an arm thrown over Ignis, hand clamped around Prompto’s arm. Despite his fears and unrelentingly fast heartbeat, he sleeps soundly. When they awake to the morning sun, they don’t mention tangled limbs and the calm sense of desperation that lingers over them. For ten years they denied themselves each other’s company, grew apart and grew alone.

It becomes routine to sleep in the same bed after that, a small comfort in a tireless world.

 

***

 

Two months into the rebuilding efforts, Prompto decides to venture out beyond the city limits of Insomnia. Gladio begs him to come along, but Prompto needs to be alone. He tells Gladio they’ll leave at first light, to meet him at the doors of the Citadel, but he instead packs a bag and leaves in the dead of night. He’s sure Gladio will be furious with him, but he’ll deal with that later.

It’s weird, traveling at night and not needing to have his guard up. There are no daemons, barely any wildlife. Most of the nearest outposts have been emptied of any people, everyone having headed into the city for the promise of reliable food and shelter. The Havens he passes are lifeless, the magic of the Crystal having left the runes as nothing but dull shapes carved into stone.

Prompto travels through the night and most of the day before he finally lets himself rest. He finds a cliffside that faces the sun and lets his legs dangle. He contemplates scooting forward, feeling air rush past his ears as he plummets, but he keeps himself planted where he is. After all, he’d like to say goodbyes first. 

He watches the sun set. He thinks about grabbing his camera, he still carries it around wherever he goes, but the sunset still feels too ethereal to photograph. It’s a reminder of Noct, of what he’s lost, of the future he never got to have. A future that others in Eos will at least be able to enjoy. 

“Hey, Noct, buddy. I’m not gonna lie, it’s been a rough few months,” Prompto laughs, “I guess that’s a bit of an understatement. I know I’m a mess, and Gladio and Iggy aren’t much better off, if I’m being honest. And you know me, always the honest one. 

“It’s funny, hey? I’ve been without you for more than double the amount of time that we were friends. More time alone than by your side.” Prompto lets himself lean over the cliffside, staring at the ground far below him. “Way back when, I thought we would live forever.”

He camps out only metres away from the cliff’s edge, stoking a barely there fire and pretending that there are three other chairs sat around it. Pretending there aren’t wrinkles starting to crease his face and bags under his eyes. Pretending that he was still twenty years old on a roadtrip across the country, nothing but highway and blue sky and laughter.

When he goes back to Insomnia two days later, Gladio and Ignis nearly cry in relief. They both wrap their arms tight around him and he’s not allowed to leave their presence for ages. Iggy keeps sending him stern looks and Gladio’s eyes haven’t stopped shining with unshed tears.

“I don’t know why you guys were so worried, you know I can handle myself. Besides, there aren’t even any daemons to worry about anymore,” Prompto says, finally breaking the tense silence. 

“That’s not exactly what we’re worried about, Prompto,” Ignis replies, “Don’t mind me saying but you don’t exactly exhibit the best self preservation skills.”

Prompto pauses. Oh. “ You guys thought I was gonna off myself.”

It’s not a question, not really. And Prompto could never lie to them, not anymore. Sure, he thought about it, thinks about it, will continue to think about it, but dying in the wilderness of Lucis was never the way he wanted to go. He’d like to think he’d find something more poetic.

“You don’t make it easy to think otherwise,” Gladio says, “Just— Please don’t run off again, I don’t think we can handle it.”

What a concept, Gladio not being able to handle something. They must really be getting old. 

“I promise,” Prompto whispers. He doesn’t know if it’s a promise he’ll keep, but it’s one he’s fine with making for now. Besides, the world outside Insomnia seems so lackluster now, without Noct beside him. 

 

***

 

There’s a moment, most of the way through their first year after the Dawn, where everything in Insomnia just falls into place. Ignis spent months running around, laying the groundwork for everything in the city to run smoothly. And just as he planned, it does. 

Here’s the makeshift guard for the civilians, here’s the check in for new refugees, here’s the building for rations, here’s the building for medical care, here’s the man who gives you work if you want it, here’s the group of people who care for your children while you work, here is, here is, here is. 

And then it clicks. They’ve established a temporary council, until the population is calm enough to cast a democratic vote for a leader, and Ignis is a part of that council, but that moment still hits. 

Everything moves forward on its own and Ignis is left in the dust. A little worse for wear, a little rough around the edges, a little bit lost in the face of suddenly not being needed, not really. He goes into the hall they’ve been using as a council room every morning and greets the others, he spends the afternoon in his office going over paperwork and stacks of information, then he comes back to bed at night and wonders why he can’t do more. 

Gladio pins him down in a back hallway, a week into Ignis’ silent crisis. He puts a hand on either side of Ignis’ head, leans close enough that the smell of his hair and the warmth of his breath is dancing close to Ignis. He lets out a gruff snort, an imitation of a laugh. 

“Iggy, you’re gonna run yourself ragged thinking the way your thinking right now,” he says, soft voice that never lost that rough edge. 

“And how, exactly, am I thinking right now,” Ignis scoffs. 

“Like you’re useless, now this city’s on its own two feet. Like if you don’t keep trying to make work for yourself you’re betraying what Noct left behind.” There’s a hand that lifts off the wall, settling instead in the curve where Ignis’ neck meets his shoulder. Gladio’s thumb traces soft circles where it meets his skin. “I know you, Ig. I don’t want to watch you fall into bad habits so soon.”

“He would have wanted—”

“He would have wanted you safe, and healthy, and happy. Don’t kid yourself.”

And maybe Gladio is right, maybe Noctis wouldn’t want his friends to work themselves to the point of exhaustion. Maybe Ignis is allowed to stop and rest, to take in the city. They’ve accomplished so much in so little time, it seems. Amazing, really, that they waited ten years in darkness and made so much progress in less than one. Ignis takes a deep breath. 

He grabs the hand Gladio has against his neck, drags it away from him but doesn’t let go when their arms have settled more comfortably at their sides. He laces their fingers together and begins to lead Gladio toward one of the stairwells. They head upward, until they’re as high as they can go, a heavy metal door leading them out onto the roof of the Citadel.

Ignis settles them right on the edge, leans against Gladio and smiles. It’s been awhile since he’s indulged in this. 

“Tell me what the city looks like, how much it’s changed,” Ignis whispers into the whistling wind. 

He feels Gladio shift, looking down at where Ignis is settled against his shoulder, down further to where their hands are still held together. He brushes his lips against Ignis’ hair and then looks down toward the streets if Insomnia. 

“We had to expand from our original houses, so many people are showing up now. You can see them now, even this late, still wandering the streets. It’s busy, almost like how it used to feel, and no one’s afraid anymore.” Gladio talks until the sun sets and the roof gets too cold to stay on. 

The next morning, when they wake up, Ignis doesn’t feel quite as useless. 

 

***

 

Some people talk of a celebration, as the year anniversary creeps closer for the Dawn. There are smiling faces and full stomachs that can only see the sunrise as something beautiful, as something that brought about prosperity and new beginnings. Gladio hears a woman say to her friend that they should have a festival in the Dawn’s honour. Not in Noct’s honour.

Gladio almost tears the small pile of files he’s hauling over to Ignis.

He storms down through the Citadel halls, breathing heavily as he takes twists and turns that he’s had to relearn. A festival for the Dawn. If the city wants it, it’ll happen, Astrals knows the council is happy to bend over backwards to make everyone comfortable and happy. It would be something delightfully positive. Gladio knows he would have to hide far away until it was over.

He knocks on Ignis’ door but enters before he hears an answer. Ignis is there, at his desk, staring at a screen with headphones on. With the return of power brought the return of technology, and Ignis was grateful to have the option of digitalising the files that had never been translated to braille.

“Hey, Iggy, I’ve got a couple more for us to put on that thing,” Gladio says, loud enough to be heard through whatever Ignis is listening to. He puts the files down on the corner of the desk.

“Thank you, Gladio. We can start going through those as soon as I’m done sorting out the numbers for the most recent census we’ve put out,” Ignis says, soft smile as he shifts a headphone back from his ear.

“Another census? That’s what, the third one in as many months?”

“We need to keep track of the ever growing population of the city. It’s nearly doubled since we last took stock of everyone staying here. With every new person, we have new resources that need to be allotted. Certainly you understand the importance of knowing how many people we’re serving.”

“I get it, Ig.” Gladio takes a seat on the stiff couch that’s set against one wall. He stares out at the bright blue sky beyond the arching windows of the office. “I heard someone talking about a festival today. For the Dawn. For Noct, too, I guess, if only in spirit.”

“I think that would be a spectacular idea. It would be a good effort in community organisation, and it would certainly lift spirits across the city,” Ignis says.

“Yeah, alright. If that’s the case, you can take the brunt on that one as far as council duties. Iris will probably help you out. Just know that I’m gonna bail for a bit if that’s the case. It’s too soon, you know?”

“I understand.” Ignis removes his headphones completely and reaches for the first file on the pile Gladio put down. He hands it out to Gladio. “Would you mind?”

They spend the afternoon into the evening like that. Gladio reads out the files while Ignis transcribes them into documents on his computer. When the sun begins to set, Prompto stops by with a small dinner for the three of them and gets them to take a break. Prompto also brings smiles and conversation.

They talk about Iris and the new city guard and the fact that Aranea arrived and told Prompto she’d be happy to help in every way she can. They talk about Cindy back at Hammerhead and how she’s been getting as many people into the borders of Insomnia that she can. Eventually they even talk about the festival, and while Prompto agrees it would be great for the city, he asks if Gladio would want a friend along on his escape from it.

They get through all the files and retire to bed. Gladio stares at the ceiling and wonders how it’s nearly been a year already.

 

***

 

There’s a marketplace set up in the middle of town, with dozens of tables and plenty of people. There’s fresh produce and artists and butchers. It reminds Prompto of Lestallum, but somehow even more vibrant. He didn’t think it was possible.

There’s a cafe right on the edge that always gives him as many coffees as he wants. The woman who runs it assures him that it’s the least that they can do, after all that he’s done for them. He always leaves a tip behind at his table to make up for it, normally whatever gil he has on his body.

He’s sitting at a table on the patio with Iris. Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of the Dawn, the one year anniversary of Noct’s death. The council, along with a few prominent members of the community, have banded together and there will be a festival tomorrow, complete with food and music and a parade. Iris is excited.

Prompto is less so.

“So the parade is gonna start of the whole thing. The Guard is gonna march, and there’s even a couple floats and stuff, too. There’s gonna be a stage and there’s still lots of people who play music, especially after the Dawn! We got 4 bands and one solo musician who are gonna make sure the music is on basically the whole day. We also got people from all over Lucis to bring extra stuff in for the market and for food.” Iris is excitedly telling Prompto all the details over their coffees. Hers is black, his is sweet with chocolate powder dusted on top.

“I guess all the outreach is working, then? If people outside of Insomnia are established enough to be sending wares and people to the city for a party,” Prompto says.

“Oh, for sure. Since Aranea started helping it’s been even better. We can provide food and stuff if people are missing out on it, but a lot of little outposts are pretty decently established after the ten years. They had to be just to survive.”

“Yeah, I guess. Hey, Iris could we talk about something else? Not work related. Not the festival.”

Iris looks up at Prompto with wide eyes. She puts on that smile, the one he knows isn’t pity but sure feels like it.

“How’ve you been doing, Prompto?” She asks.

“Not really what I meant but okay, feelings time I guess,” Prompto sighs. He takes a long sip of his coffee and wishes, for once, it wasn’t quite as sweet. “I’ve been okay, considering. I haven’t run away in a little while, and Ignis tries to make sure I eat once a day, and I’ve slept at least four hours every night for the last couple weeks.”

“Wow, so you’re barely even a functioning human, sounds like the opposite of okay,” Iris says.

“Compared to what it could be, I’d say it’s stellar.” Prompto looks down at his hands. He still has the wristband around his arm. He hooks a finger under it and fiddles with it. “I still wonder if people would be so keen on me being apart of the council if they knew.”

“Maybe it doesn’t matter. In the long run, you’ll be remembered for ushering in the Dawn and bringing Insomnia back to its former glory. To better than it used to be. Screw that stupid barcode,” Iris spits, “You know, a couple people have gone back to the more frivolous of professions, I bet there’s a tattoo artist somewhere in town. You could always get it covered up.”

“And risk some stranger outing me to everyone? Great plan,” Prompto laughs, scratching along the black lines.

Iris bats his hand away from his wrist, “I’m sure you can find someone trustworthy. Anyone is willing to keep a secret with enough gil, especially a secret that seems pretty unassuming without context.”   


“Maybe you’re right,” Prompto says.

They finish their coffees in relative silence, Prompto leaves a pile of gil on the table, and they go their separate ways. It’s still early, and the market is still bustling as Prompto pushes his way through the crowd. He’s still astonished by the sheer amount of people that have come home to Insomnia.

Though, looking around it’s clear that there are a lot of people who never considered Insomnia home before the fall. Where it used to be a rarity to hear an accent or see a head of pale blond hair, it’s now a regular happenstance. The Dawn brought about more than sunlight. It brought with it a sense of humanity and unity that the Lucian kingdom hadn’t known before. With the borders having mostly fallen, there are citizens from Altissia, Tenebrae and Niflheim amongst those from the original Lucis.

He’s most of the way through the crowd when he catches sight of messy black hair and blue eyes. He stops, his lungs catching, and stares.

Eventually, he shakes it. A young man that is too tall and too broad hands over a basket of vegetables to a young couple and their child. It’s not Noctis. It never is no matter how many times Prompto thinks he sees him in a crowd. His hands do not shake as he continues his way to the Citadel.

Aranea greets him in the hallway as he passes and he gives a slight nod. A couple of the guards recognise him by name, but he can’t do the same. In fact, he can’t recall anything right now. His hands aren’t shaking at all. There’s a slight blur to the edge of his vision and that’s weird, because he’s certainly not injured.

He keeps walking, tracing a path that he thinks is right, but he’s not really focusing on direction all that much. He has to consciously think about breathing for his lungs to listen, and his head becomes nothing but a mantra of left foot, right foot, breathe in, left foot, right foot, breathe out. He ends up in the gardens and he sits on the grass.

The gardens are overgrown but still lush and beautiful. They haven’t bothered having anyone attend to them beyond making them accessible to those who wish to visit. It’s nice to sit amongst the green and red and yellow and white. In one corner is a small collection of sylleblossoms in their perfect blue (no, not quite perfect), but that’s one corner that Prompto tends to ignore.

He lays down and stares at the sky, at the overcast grey that still glows with the sun behind the clouds. His vision is still blurred and he thinks his face is damp. Is it raining?

“Hey, Noct. It’ll be a whole year, as of tomorrow. I thought I would have been used to it by now,  but I guess I was kidding myself, hey?” Prompto speaks to the sky and ignores that the wetness on his face is tears. It’s going to rain anyway, he’ll be able to blame that soon. “I lied to Iris earlier, I’m definitely not okay. I don’t even know what that means at this point. Gladio says I’m gonna kill myself by not taking care of myself if I don’t do it deliberately first.

“And, I’ve thought about it, yeah. I still have my guns and there’s a lot of tall buildings in the city. I mean, I could do it a lot of ways. I’ve had the opportunity to. I almost have.” Prompto sighs and wipes at his face. “But I’m still kicking.”

He finally looks over to the sylleblossoms. They’re perfectly in bloom, which is weird because he doesn’t think they’re in season right now. Thinking back on it, he doesn’t think they’ve ever been anything but bright blue and overwhelming.

“I wish you were here, buddy, it would make this whole mess a lot easier.” Prompto looks back to the sky, squinting a bit at the brightness. “But we’ve made it a whole year. I figure that was the hardest part, right? Just got the rest of our lives, now.”


	2. Year Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for suicidal thoughts/action and disordered eating. stay safe guys

Prompto is sixteen years old and he hasn’t eaten in a week. It’s odd, that he had gone without food before, run out of money and therefore ended up with dusty cupboards, but this time it’s deliberate. There is a hollowness in his cheeks as he sits on his bed, staring at the wall. Noctis has called him three times today and he hasn’t picked up.

It’s another few days before Ignis catches on, mostly because Prompto passes out in the kitchen while grabbing a cup of water. There’s a lot of tears after that, and some not-so-subtle pushes toward therapy and doctors and nutrition plans. He gets better, despite everything he gets better.

And then he is twenty and falling back into bad habits. First, after the fall of Insomnia, when Gladio has to catch him as he falls mid-battle. There’s a soft, concerned look when Gladio’s hands hold onto a waist that is a little too concave for his liking. But they all help him out, he gets better, he gets better, he gets better.

When Ardyn captures him, he goes several days without eating. Not by choice. And that hasn’t happened in a little while. He forgot how much he hates losing his autonomy.

It’s not the worst thing that happens in Zegnautus Keep. There’s the bruises, and the ever present ache of his shoulders, and the paranoia, and the feeling of relief when Noctis walked into the room  _ again _ and it was Ardyn  _ again.  _ Sure, he feels weak and his stomach is crying out, but there are worse things to worry about.

But after the crystal, the food thing is the part that sticks around.

And now they’re here. Prompto is thirty five years old and he hasn’t eaten in a week.

It has been five years since Noctis died, and five years since the sun rose, and five years since Prompto felt that warmth in his bones that came with having Noctis by his side. He can get close, with the burning feeling through his stomach. It’s an empty sort of burn, nothing as fulfilling as the friendship and love he so desperately misses, but it feels like control.

He’s staying at Hammerhead, for a little while, tired of being in the city that’s ever expanding. He heads back for major council meetings, as is his duty, but for the most part, he sticks to the countryside. Cindy lets him help out at the garage in return for a spare room, though she insists the room would be his regardless of him working.

He hasn’t seen Gladio or Ignis in a month, and it almost feels like it did during their decade after the crystal stole Noctis. There was that stretch of time where they rarely saw each other, were a little too fragile to spend time with anyone in a similar state. Now, though, Prompto just misses them.

He’s sitting on a cliffside, staring at the sunrise.

His phone rings.

There’s a photo of Ignis as a backdrop to the call, a rare one with no glasses and a big smile. Prompto takes a moment to stare at the contact photo before he finally answers.

“Hey, Iggy,” He says, soft. Has his voice always been that rough?

“Prompto. How are you doing?” Ignis’ voice is stronger than his is.

“It’s been five whole years. How have I made it this far?” Prompto asks.

“You’re very strong, that’s how. What are you up to, Prompto?”

“I’m watching the sunrise. Normally this is when I would talk to Noct, you know, pretend he’s still around to hear all my stupid thoughts. Can you believe how long it’s been? I miss him.” Prompto dangles his legs, looks down at the ground far below him. “Hey, Iggy, you know I love you guys, right?”

“Of course I know that. What’s making you say that.” If Prompto didn’t know Ignis so well he’d almost say he sounded worried.

“Oh, you know.”

“Gladio and I are gonna visit today, we’re already on our way out to Hammerhead. We can all go out for lunch.” Now that he mentions it, Prompto can hear the soft sound of a radio in the background, the hum of an engine.

“I don’t know if I’m in a mood to be making plans, Iggy,” Prompto says.

“Well, I am. I don’t know where you are but I need you to at least wait until I can see you,” Ignis says, “Please.”

Ignis pleading. What a concept. Prompto stares at the sun long enough that it leaves spots in his vision. His eyes blur and he wipes tears from his cheeks.

“Can you guys come get me?” Prompto asks, suddenly sobbing.

And they do. They find him curled on the edge of a cliff, watching the sun climb steadily into the sky. Gladio is able to lift him and carry him back to the car without so much as a grunt of effort and Prompto feels proud that he’s taking up so little space. He knows he should feel bad, but he’s so tired of feeling bad.

Gladio drives them back to Hammerhead while Ignis plays with Prompto’s hair. They talk idly about anything other than Noctis and where they found Prompto, instead Ignis mentions a recipe for soup, and Gladio says Iris has taken over training all the guards. Prompto tells them that Cindy’s got him working at the garage.

It’s nice, almost like they’re back to normal.

Cindy gets tight lipped when she sees Gladio carrying Prompto out of the car, but she doesn’t say anything as they head to Prompto’s room. She’s knows the date, everyone does at this point. It’s a holiday in its own right, at least for most people.

Of course, she has to be family with the three people it hurts the most.

Ignis, Prompto and Gladio stay in for the rest of the day. Ignis makes lunch and coerces Prompto into eating a tiny bit, and they watch movies on an old television with dead pixels spotted throughout its screen. At the end of the third mindless action movie of the day, Prompto lifts his head from where its settled on Gladio’s lap.

“I think I want to come home, now.”

 

***

 

Gladio’s hands are cold. His palms are rough and he has callouses and scars worn into his skin. He holds things gently, for the most part. He remembers carrying a tiny Iris when he was younger, remembers delicately braiding his fingers into Prompto’s or Noctis’ hair, remembers guiding Ignis with steady pressure on the small of his back or the curve of his elbow. 

He made Iris take over training the new city guard. 

He takes up work where he can. He does the heavy lifting as they clear debris and rebuild the city, he helps shopkeepers and market stalls, he lets his hands be gentle after a lifetime of anything but. Iris smiled at him when he originally asked her to take over, and he can still feel the light touch of her fingertips on his wrist.

He’s helping a woman run a flower stand today. She laughed when he introduced himself, and he definitely didn’t blush when she insisted he was certainly as pretty as his namesake. Gladio feels slightly more at home in the marketplace. It stretches out in front of the looming Citadel and it’s always bustling and exciting.

It’s been five years, and if nothing else, Insomnia remembers how to be alive.

Here is the group of kids drawing in chalk on the concrete, here is the boy that walks his dog on the same route every day, here is the butcher and the florist and the jeweler, here is the surging crowd, here is the happy couple, here is the city at its best. And that’s what Insomnia is again, a city.

There are still ruins, Gladio knows, he helps restore the buildings around the city, but the more time passes the more they rebuild.

A child comes up to the flower stand and his hands, rough hewn and cold, hand her a bundle of forget-me-nots.

 

***

 

Ignis and Prompto find Gladio late in the afternoon at a flower stand in the middle of the market, talking to a couple about wedding arrangements and colour choices. They stand at a distance, Ignis listening in on the conversation. He doesn’t know if Gladio sees them, but the conversation doesn’t end prematurely.

Eventually the couple wander away, and Prompto drags Ignis over to the stand and greets Gladio loudly, with that bravado he’s been faking recently. Ignis smiles despite himself.

“We were wondering if you were ready for an early dinner. I thought we might have a small affair of our own. I’ve packed sandwiches and Prompto insists he knows the perfect spot for a picnic,” Ignis says.

“Yeah, I just gotta—” Gladio waves wildly at the stand. “Give me ten minutes.”

Ignis and Prompto sit themselves on a bench to wait. Ignis listens to Prompto ramble about the passing crowds, the way that people are acting around each other, the way the marketplace looks in the afternoon sun.

“Have you ever thought of picking up your camera again, Prom?” Ignis asks, cutting off a description of a man fighting a losing battle against a melting ice cream cone.

Prompto goes quiet all at once. Ignis hears him breathe in, long and steady.

“I’ve thought about it, yeah. It doesn’t feel the same.”

Ignis hums, understanding in an abstract sort of way.

“You guys look sombre all of the sudden,” Gladio says, coming up beside them rather abruptly.

“Nothing serious, big guy!” Prompto jumps to his feet. “Now, come on, I wanna get there before the sun sets.”

Ignis feels a soft hand settle into his as Prompto begins to drag him away. Ignis wraps his own fingers around Gladio’s wrist so they stay together as they push through the throngs of people. Gladio shifts his hand until their fingers are comfortably intertwined. Before long, they’re out of the marketplace and weaving through forgotten back alleys of Insomnia, but their hands all stay connected.

“Okay, be careful there’s a bit of a step up and then we’re gonna be heading up some stairs. I promise this is all safe though, I even had Cor check it out.” Prompto lets go of Ignis’ hand so he can hoist open a heavy, creaking door. Ignis can hear the rust crumbling around the hinges.

“I think Cor’s gone mad in his old age. This place looks like its gonna fall right on top of us,” Gladio says.

“Trust me, okay? It’ll be really nice up there.”

And it is nice. There’s a blown out apartment overlooking the horizon, still sheltered enough that the wind barely ruffles their hair. Gladio says the view is rather breathtaking. The city almost looks like it’s in one piece.

They eat their sandwiches in near silence, and Prompto pulls out a thermos and a couple small, plastic cups halfway through. He cracks open the thermos and suddenly all Ignis can smell is sugar and cocoa, and he never really thought he’d get to indulge in hot chocolate ever again, yet here it is, warming the palms of his hands.

“This is where I come to talk to Noct when I’m feeling really shitty,” Prompto says, breaking the silence of the now cool evening, “Sometimes I’ll try and talk to the Six as well, but for the most part it’s Noct.”

“Do you think we’ll ever get to a point where he doesn’t permeate every day we live?” Ignis asks, almost guilty.

“Nah, I think we’re stuck with him,” Gladio says.

Maybe that’s not a bad thing.

 

***

 

Here’s the scene:

Three boys— no, men— sit with their legs dangling over a ramshackle city that they’ve built from the ground up. The sun is dipping below the horizon and their eyes are drooping with it. They lean, full bodied, onto each other, and watch the glow disappear. They do this at least once a week. Watch the sun set over Insomnia.

Eventually, long after the stars have begun to blink into existence above their heads, Gladio rouses them to their feet and half carries them back down the stairs, back through the streets. Streetlights guide them all the way back to the Citadel, and they notice that Insomnia is finally living back up to its name. The streets are still alive with people, even as night grows darker.

They all fall into bed fully clothed and exhausted. If you asked them the next day they would quote council duties or physical labour, but if you asked them in this soft, quiet moment, they’d tell you that nights feel like that, more often than not now.

The mattress is malleable and comforting, and the blankets are smooth and clean. Ignis falls asleep first and Gladio, as always, falls asleep last, his hand over Ignis’ shoulder and wrapped around Prompto’s wrist.

The city does not sleep.

 

***

 

There’s an idle, restless shake to Prompto’s entire body. He hasn’t been working since his not-quite-vacation to Hammerhead, and it’s made him feel violently useless. Ignis promises he’s not obligated to take up any work, and Gladio insists he keep resting, but he’s ready to be  _ doing something _ again.

He finds Iris and asks to spar, but that only keeps him busy for an hour or two before she floors him hard enough that she insists they’re done, at least for the day. He finds Ignis and helps him with council duties, but reading through files, and numbers, and proposed changes to the city gets boring quickly and does nothing to quell the ache in his bones. He finds Gladio, but he’s midway through helping the construction of a new community building, this one for mental health services, and Prompto is still physically weak from a less than ideal diet and a lack of training.

He ends up wandering the city absently, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his shirt.

This is what he’s come to, a redundancy in the system.

He decides to try and find his old house, for something to do. It’s easier than he expects, tracing through streets he can barely call familiar anymore. He finds the Argentum household around noon, and he stands staring at the front door for a few minutes too many.

It’s all in tact. The door is on the hinges, the roof is in one piece, the walls are still standing. The door is unlocked when he tries to open it, and he wonders if that was his doing, 15 years ago. Dust layers every surface inside, light reflecting golden motes into the air.

It all looks exactly the same, and Prompto doesn’t know if that’s worse. There’s even still a bowl on the counter in the kitchen, from where he had one last bowl of cereal and didn’t bother to clean up after himself. There’s a couple pairs of shoes in the front hall, there’s a jacket thrown haphazardly over the couch in the living room.

Prompto goes upstairs, past his parents’ firmly shut door. He wonders, briefly, where they ended up in all this mess, if they’re even still alive. His dusty toothbrush is still in the cup in the bathroom, (and he remembers Ignis scolding him as he had to buy a new one). There’s an old bottle of body wash and a couple tubes of gel that have completely solidified. He continues down the hall until he reaches his door.

He pushes it open.

Photographs line the walls. Selfies of him and Noct, so much younger, still smiling. There’s Ignis, glaring at the camera over the stove top in Noct’s apartment.  There’s Gladio, striking a pose in the middle of the Citadel courtyard. There’s a shot of Regis, from afar, looking old and regal. There’s Clarus, and there’s his mom, and there’s Pryna, and there’s Noctis and there’s Noctis and there’s Noctis.

He sits on the dusty bed, ruffling the sheets that have a worn chocobo pattern on them. He stares at the walls of his own bedroom and tries to remember what it felt like, before the roadtrip, before the fall of Lucis, before everyone started dying and hurting and leaving.

 

***

 

Ignis is always the first to fall asleep and the first to wake up. At least, that’s normally how it goes, which is why he’s surprised to find Gladio awake and already brewing coffee an hour before he would normally get up. A mug is set in front of Ignis.

“Thank you. What has you up so early, if I may ask?” Ignis says, sipping at his coffee. Exactly how he likes it, with too much sugar and a hint of cream.

“Couldn’t sleep, I guess.

“You complain that I work myself ragged, but I’m afraid you’re turning into a bit of a hypocrite, Gladio.”

“Do as I say and not as I do?” Gladio laughs. “I don’t know what to tell you, it’s been a rough couple weeks.”

“We’re coming up on six years. It’s gone quick, don’t you think?” Ignis tries to act nonchalant, but he knows there’s no use with Gladio.

“Sure. Iris is helping organise the festival again. Biggest one yet.”

There’s a settled silence. Privately, they’re both thinking every year is the biggest one yet. They sip their coffee and Ignis hears the rifling of pages as Gladio cracks open one of his books. A light breeze filters in from the slightly opened window over the sink. There are birds singing and the marketplace is beginning to come alive with noise.

“Hey, Iggy, do you ever just—” Gladio starts and stops. 

“Just what?” Iggy sets his mug down, gives Gladio his full attention. 

“I miss him, I do, with my whole being. I have entire days where all I can think about is how he’s dead, and I’m alive, and by all means I’ve failed as a Shield, as his Shield. But then.” Gladio breathes in, exhales hard. Ignis hears the rustling of his book as its set down. “There are days when kids smile at me, and Iris tells me about new recruits, and Prompto looks like he’s almost happy again, and you cook something beautiful, and the city looks whole and alive. And I forget for a second that he’s gone, and I’m supposed to be upset and angry about it. 

“Iggy, am I a bad person for moving on?”

Ignis stands up. He drags himself over to Gladio and reaches out until his fingers collide with sharp cheekbones and rough, unshaved skin. 

“Gladiolus Amicitia, don’t you ever feel guilty for letting yourself be happy.”

Prompto wakes up thirty minutes later and Ignis makes pancakes. Iris and Cor join them for lunch and the council meeting after establishes the groundwork for a democratic election within the next year. Kids smile, and Iris gushes about her guards, and Prompto looks happy, and Ignis cooks, and the city is alive, and, and, and. 

The evening rolls around and no one feels guilty for the little bit of joy they’re finally feeling. 

 

***

 

“Gladdy, do you think you’ll come to the festival this year?”

Gladio looks at his sister and thinks, for a moment, that she looks so much like their father. Then she gets that look in her eye, the one that is hers and hers alone, and she puts a steady hand on his shoulder. 

He looks down. There is the little memorial they set up for Dad five years ago. He traces his eyes along the walkway to the throne and thinks, hey, that’s where Noctis died. Behind the throne is a new fixture in the room. Heavy slabs of dark marble line the back wall, engraved with thousands of names. All the ones they could find of the people that died during the Fall of Insomnia and the subsequent war. 

The room is alight with the soft glow of hundreds of candles. Flowers and teddy bears and photographs and every other type of trinket line every flat surface. Gladio knows this place is chaos on weekends and when the work day ends. Everyone has their own little slice of mourning, years later. 

“Gladdy?” Iris asks, catching his attention once again. 

He looks up at her. Thirty years old, isn’t that a concept of its own, with scars and calloused fingers and laugh lines already forming on her face. He smiles and hopes that it’s all him, with none of his father in the cracks. 

“Yeah, I think it’s time I finally go.”

 

***

 

Gladio may have convinced Ignis to go to the Festival of Light but no amount of begging or pleading was ever going to get Prompto to go. 

Which means Aranea is on babysitting duty. 

And Prompto gets it, he really does. He doesn’t exactly have the best track record as far as being left alone, especially on the anniversary of his best friend’s death. But he swears, he’s getting  _ better _ .

He eats at least once a day, and he doesn’t even throw the meals up anymore. He avoids tall buildings and cliffsides and tantalisingly sharp objects and guns that are designed to blow his head into bits of shrapnel and viscera. He doesn’t talk aimlessly to Noctis anymore, and he no longer begs the Six to give him back. At least, not with the overzealous offer of sacrificing whatever necessary to achieve such a gift. 

He’s getting better. Kind of.

Aranea insists she’s fine with watching over him, which he believes pretty easily. They’ve been friends ever since the debacle in Niflheim ages ago. She’s brought cheesy rom-coms and a soft smile and fingers that like to brush through his hair. Meanwhile, a festival rages outside the Citadel. 

Halfway through the second movie he starts getting restless. His fingers begin to dance along his arms, he digs a nail into the barcode on his wrist, still under that leather band. 

Aranea slaps his hand away. “What’s gotten into you all the sudden?”

“I think—” Prompto says, stunted and heavy, “could we go outside? To the festival?”

“You sure about that, kiddo?” Aranea almost sounds concerned. She pauses the movie in the background. 

Prompto nods. 

They head outside hand in hand. The air has a sharp bite to it, autumn clinging to its edges, and Prompto wishes he’d put a scarf on with his coat. The festival is in full swing with smiling faces and a parade and music. 

Everything is shades of yellow and orange, with little bursts of blue light in the form of lamps and fairy lights dotting every surface. Various food stands are set up selling dishes from everywhere on the map. Everyone seems happy. 

And everywhere he looks has mentions of the King of Light. Of Noctis, in all his heroic, gods-blessed glory.

“This was a stupid idea, why did I do this?” Prompto asks, his hand tightening on Aranea’s. 

There’s a shout through the crowd. A familiar, low voice that fills Prompto with nothing but comfort and familiarity. 

“Hey, Prom!” Gladio bounds up next to Prompto and Aranea, Ignis in tow, “Why are you out here, I thought you said you didn’t want to come?”

“Blondie here thought it’d be a great idea to venture into the great outdoors for a change,” Aranea jokes. 

“For real though, this is awful, I feel like I can’t breathe,” Prompto cuts in, not quite over exaggerating.

“Come on, then, let’s go somewhere a little more quiet. I could use a break regardless,” Ignis says, taking Prompto’s free hand and beginning to lead them away. 

“You guys go on ahead, I’ll catch up. Just gotta talk to Iris real quick,” Gladio calls to them as he gets swept in the opposite direction by the crowd. 

Ignis doesn’t take them far, just to a nearby park where the cacophony of the Festival can still only just be heard. A couple other people have taken refuge here, but for the most part it’s deserted. They sit on a park bench and let the cold, afternoon air ruffle their hair. 

Gladio is quick to return, with a tray of drinks in one hand and a bag of what looks like grease filled food in the other. He grins when he sees them on the bench and rushes over. 

“I got us alcohol and snacks!” He says as he divvies out the drinks and opens the bag to reveal cinnamon sugar covered doughnuts. He sees Prompto hesitate. “Come on, Prom. You too, buddy.”

Prompto takes the drink and the pastry and thinks, just for a second, that he’s almost happy. 

“To the King of Light,” Ignis says raising his glass, “But more importantly, to Noctis, to family, and to you guys.”

They raise their glasses.


	3. Year Eighteen

The cold falls heavy on the night of Prompto’s 48th birthday, winter rolling in early this year. Ignis made a cake that Gladio decorated, and Prompto assures Ignis that it honestly doesn’t look that bad. They eat and laugh and drink and when Ignis heads outside for fresh air, the cold is all he can think about.

He’s only wearing a thick-knit sweater, and it does nothing to keep out the biting chill. He knows it’s dark out, even though it’s only six o’clock, like how he knows it was cloudy all day, and how he knows frost is already starting to cling to the grass. 

Ignis hates winter. 

He never did before. In fact, he used to revel in the warm clothes and spiced drinks and indulgent foods. When snow would dust the streets of Insomnia, Ignis was the first to throw a snowball at Noctis and the first to stick his tongue out to catch the flakes. Winter used to be his favourite season. 

But now, winter is the stretch of months when the sun sets early and rises late, and Ignis can never determine if the night is going to be permanent. Winter is the first season they had without Noctis. Winter is cold and biting, and Shiva never blessed him with anything to change his mind. 

It’s been nearly twenty years, which is astonishing. Ignis doesn’t really dwell on the Night, or Noctis’ death, or the Fall of Insomnia all those years ago. But sometimes, at the edge of winter, he feels himself slip backward. Gladio normally pulls him back out of his theoretical what-ifs with hands through his hair and down his back, or Prompto distracts him with a synopsis of the latest movie he’s watched.

Here, just outside of the Citadel, at the end of October, he’s all alone. He tips his head to the sky and feels a couple icy flakes of snow hit his cheeks. He almost opens his mouth to say something to Noctis, long dead and not around to hear, or maybe to try and catch one of the snowflakes, like he always used to. 

He turns around, instead, and heads back inside. 

 

***

 

Prompto is sitting on a cliffside, staring at the sunrise. He has a horrific sense of deja vu settling in his stomach, but there’s no nefarious plans here, just a beautiful sight stretched out in front of him. He’s only just outside the city, just far enough to feel like he’s breathing fresh air. Ignis and Gladio know exactly where he is, and he’s got a friend with him to stop him from doing anything stupid.

“You gonna do anything with that, kid?” Cor’s voice is rough with age, and he’s got wrinkles lining the corners of his eyes, his forehead, his cheeks. It’s weird, to see him look so worn down.

He’s nodding toward the camera hanging around Prompto’s neck. Prompto has taken to carrying it around, the last couple months, though he’s yet to take a photo of anything. He doubts he would have the same knack for it that he used to. 

“Thought about it. Figured a picture of the sunrise would be fitting, after all these years.” Prompto fiddles with the settings on the camera. He doesn’t press the button to view any of the past photos.

“Little bit boring, don’t you think? Surely there’s some more exciting subjects in the city?”

“You’re probably right.” Prompto looks through the viewfinder. He doesn’t take the shot. “Let’s keep going, yeah? I wanna make it there in time for breakfast.”   


They make it to Hammerhead with time to spare. Cindy greets them with a wide smile and tells them that there’s eggs and bacon waiting for them inside. Prompto catches her up on what’s going on in the city, and asks about how things have going in the shop. She mentions that she’s going to be needing to stop by soon anyway, having been called in for a couple major repairs in the Citadel.

“You know, you guys should really start sourcin’ that shit within the city,” She laughs.

“They’re just never gonna be as good as you, Cin,” Prompto says, making sure that he’s smiling his cheesiest smile.

They spend the rest of the day there. Cor wanders off to talk to a friend who lives nearby, while Prompto helps in the shop. They’re offered a place to stay for the night, and they take her up on it. They head back to Insomnia in the morning.

Cor drives like a madman, but Prompto mostly blames it on the fact that he’s on the wrong side of seventy. They make it back to Insomnia in record time, and Prompto takes the rest of the day to breathe and relax.

He ends up in the marketplace, because these days he always seems to end up there.

There’s a woman shopping the stalls that catches his eye. She’s got a basket full of fruits and vegetables, a smile on her face, and a violent scar tearing along the entirety of her neck, down past her collarbone. It disappears under her shirt and is violent and red, little blue and purple veins decorate the edges. Remnants of the Starscourge.

He fiddles with his camera, and moves toward her.

“Hi, sorry to bother you, my name is Prompto,” He introduces himself, “I know this is a weird question, but could I get a photo of you?”

Her eyes light up in recognition, and he’s never gotten used to that, the fact that people know who he is. She agrees, and he takes her portrait against the backdrop of the vegetable stand. Her name is Rosae and she’s from Tenebrae. He takes a quote from her, and they both leave that moment with a smile on their faces.

His first picture in nearly twenty years is that woman, and it’s the first of many. He finds as many people as he can, with scars and tired eyes and hands that still have callouses left over from weapons. An old man with one eye and a toothy grin, a teenager that was born as the sun rose, a woman with laugh lines and Starscourge scarring alike marring her face. He photographs them as people, and not as relics of an old war.

Ignis and Gladio look so proud, when he tells them that he needs to print out some photos.

 

***

 

Gladio takes Iris for lunch every weekend, but today she calls him to say she can’t make it. It’s not a big deal, really, he only just saw her two days ago, and he knows they’ll have next week for lunch. It’s not a big deal.

But for some reason, something settles in his stomach. Something that he’s always had, ever since Insomnia fell. It’s the same feeling he had when he found out his father was dead, the same feeling as when the Night began, the same feeling as when he pulled Noctis’ body down from his throne, the same feeling as when he found Prompto on that cliff (and in the bathroom with a knife and on the top of Noctis’ old apartment building, and).

Dread.

He works himself up until his lungs are heaving and his hands are shaking. He doesn’t bother to grab his jacket when he leaves, instead ignoring the winter air as it bites into his skin. He doesn’t know where Iris is supposed to be today, so he asks every guard he comes across until one of them gives him an answer. She’s on the outskirts of Insomnia, the main bridge.

He finds Iris around noon, with the sun cold and high in the sky. She looks surprised when she sees him, but welcomes the arms that wrap around her shoulders, even if they feel a little too tight. She pats his back awkwardly, and he tugs her even closer.

“What’s wrong, Gladdy? Did something happen?” Iris asks.

Gladio shakes his head. “I just. Something felt off.”

“I promise everything is fine, I just had to pick up guard duty is all.”

Gladio nods, takes a deep breath. His hands are still shaking, and he’s sure his skin is pallid and shining. He feels like he just went ten rounds with a behemoth. He collapses against the concrete of the Guards’ booth, and stares down at his boots.

“You must be freezing, you should head back home and warm up,” Iris says, her hand reaching to touch his arm. It’s warm on his icy skin. “Tell you what, I’ll meet you there when I’m done and we can do dinner to make up for missing out on lunch. Let Iggy know I want steak.”

Gladio laughs. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to make steak for you, yeah. I’ll, uh. I’ll head back now I guess. Sorry for all the fuss.”

Iris looks him dead in the eye, and he almost looks away. “Don’t you be apologising. I’ll keep my phone on, text me or call me if you need anything okay? And let me know when you’re home safe.”

He laughs again, but nods all the same. Sometimes it feels like Iris is the older sibling in this relationship. But, he supposes, they’ve always been very protective of one another, regardless of their ages, and she’s saved his ass as many times as he’s saved hers.

He makes it back to the Citadel, though it takes more time than it did for him to get to the bridge originally. When he reaches the warmth of the halls, he’s shivering head to toe. He catches a glimpse of his reflection and sees pale skin and blue lips. He runs his hands down his arms, trying to build up some friction.

“Gladio! Hey, I’ve been looking for you. I was wondering if you could help—” Prompto strolls up to him and stops, immediately, when he catches sight of his sorry state. “What happened?”

“I, uh, might have had a bit of a panic attack when Iris cancelled lunch. Ran across the whole city without a coat on.” Gladio rubs a hand against the back of his neck and avoids Prompto’s eyes.

There are soft fingers wrapped around his waist, and an arm pressed steady and warm against his back and Prompto pulls him close and starts guiding him towards their rooms. “Let’s get you warmed up, yeah? Nice hot shower and some clean clothes. I think Iggy just washed the sheets so the bed should be nice and fresh too."

Gladio feels lightweight and numb. His head is three feet to his left, and his feet are barely able to stay straight. Prompto guides him into the bathroom, and when he doesn’t make a move to get undressed, Prompto helps get off his shirt, unlaces his boots and unbuckles his pants. He watches, absently, as Prompto tests the temperature of the shower water and slowly pushes Gladio toward it.

“Do you need any more help?” Prompto asks. There’s no pressure, and no shame in the question, but Gladio feels embarrassed regardless.

“No. Thanks, though, Prom.”

“I’m gonna get you some new clothes and a clean towel. Try to relax, buddy.”

And he leaves, and Gladio is left with pleasantly warm water running down his shoulder blades. He tries to breathe steadily, but his lungs still feel strained from the hyperventilating and the cold air. He wonders, briefly, what it was like to not feel scared and panicked all the time. He knows that he wasn’t always this much of a mess.

This is the kind of shit Ignis always used to tell him to get help for. He's already taken Ignis up on the offer, finally talking to one of the Citadel’s doctors after enough badgering. He’s been seeing her for a couple years now, and it helps, it does.

But he figures he’ll be saddled with this until the day he dies, whenever that is.

Prompto comes back, eventually, with clean clothes and a towel just like he promised. He bundles Gladio in a soft sweater and a softer blanket, and they curl up on the bed and pretend that Gladio isn’t shaking, on the verge of tears.

Tomorrow, they’ll wake up and Gladio will feel fine. He’ll be refreshed and his lungs will remember how to take in oxygen, he’ll walk with a bit of a bounce to his step and he’ll send at least three dumb pictures to Iris over the course of the day.

For now, he lets Prompto hold him close, and when Iggy finally comes home that evening, he asks if they can have steak for dinner.

 

***

 

Here’s the thing:

Prompto was warned by several doctors that his  _ unique _ origins would have consequences as he aged. He brushed it off at the time, not too worried about whatever his future had in store for him. It seemed distant and unfathomable, and he always figured that in the end, he wouldn’t have to deal with the bad bits.

It is Spring and Prompto is losing the dexterity in his hands.

It’s little things at first. He shakes when he lifts his coffee mug in the morning, he tries to point one finger but can only bring the rest halfway to his palm. He starts dropping pens in May, and by June, it’s hard to press the buttons on his camera. Gladio calls him out on his writing getting messier and messier until he’s switched entirely to typing.

Ignis takes a walk with him through the Citadel gardens right on the brink between Spring and Summer. The sun is beating down on Prompto’s neck, and he can feel sweat beading along his skin. Ignis takes one of his hands and they drift to a stop.

“Your hands have been bothering you, haven’t they?” He asks, and Prompto wonders how he figured it out. “You’ve been dropping things more often than usual, and you haven’t taken a photo of me or Gladio since the new year.”

Oh.

“I can’t do anything with them anymore. It started with shaking and now I feel like they’re barely responding to anything I do,” Prompto says, soft.

“Has anything else gone awry? Have you talked to a doctor about this new development?”

“What do you think, Iggy? Just go off what you know about me as a person.” Prompto sighs and tugs his hand away from Ignis’. “It’s just my hands, I think. I’m more tired than usual, but nothing else seems to be wrong.”

They let silence fall between them. A delicate breeze ripples through the flowers and bushes of the garden. Prompto watches it catch the petals of the sylleblossoms, pulling them slightly closer to the earth before they relax back to their full height.

“You know, I always figured I’d die first, but I never really thought it’d be of natural causes,” Prompto says.

Ignis smacks him upside the head. “Don’t you dare talk like that, Prompto. You’re not dying. At least not yet.”

Prompto turns to Ignis. His visor is the same one he’s worn for years, some of the tint on the plastic scraping away on the corners. His scars have mostly faded to an off-white against his skin. His hair is getting long.

“We’re getting so old, hey Iggy?”

“Yes, Prompto, I suppose we are.”

 

***

 

Gladio sits with Prompto while he gets his blood drawn, and while a doctor tests his reflexes, and asks about any bruising or fatigue that he’s noticed. Gladio tries to keep his face flat and calm as Prompto talks about how exhausted he is all the time, and how the lightest bump against his skin will leave a purple mark in his wake, and how the motor function in his hands has all but disappeared, and how sometimes he doesn’t feel like he can stand up straight or walk or move at all.

It is the height of Summer and Prompto, by all technicality, is dying. The way the doctors explain it, it’s as if he were aged beyond his years. There’s nothing they can do except hope for the best and keep him as healthy as possible. In a best case scenario, he probably can get another couple years. In the worst case, a few months.

Gladio doesn’t take it well.

He exiles himself on a camping trip in the countryside, staying at a Haven out of habit rather than necessity. Cor offers to join him, but he’d rather not have the company right now. He spends several nights curled up beside a campfire and sleeping under the stars wondering what he did wrong. How he always ended up with unhappy or dead friends. Or unhappy, dead friends.

He comes home, after less than a week. Mostly because he misses Ignis and Prompto, and he’s still got lunch with Iris, and Cor has been texting him incessantly to tell him that everyone gets mopey when he’s not around. They don’t really mention the whole Prompto thing, when he comes back, and nothing really feels like it changes.

But sometimes Prompto stays in bed all day, or moves around the Citadel in a wheelchair. And sometimes Ignis or Gladio has to help him eat when he can’t hold his own fork. And sometimes the bags under his eyes look severe and terrifying.

But they get on. Gladio wakes up every morning and faces the day with as much vigor as he always has. Prompto doesn’t get better, but he doesn’t really get worse either.

 

***

 

Ignis finds himself wandering the city a lot. There’s something soothing about the roar of everyday life, a calm business that’s returned to Insomnia at long last. He traces old, familiar paths, astounded by how many twists and turns he remembers by muscle memory.

Here’s the best ramen shop that Insomnia has, here’s where Noctis liked to get his video games from, here’s the gym Gladio stopped by when he didn’t want to be in the Citadel, here’s the photography shop that Prompto worked in. Here’s the park where he and Noctis played as children. Here’s the last restaurant they ate in before the fall.

Of course, none of it remains, now. The buildings are either empty or turned into other shops. The park was bombed out in the initial fall of Insomnia and was too out of the way to be immediately considered in rebuilding efforts. He sits in the rubble and listens to the nearby people as they wander past, oblivious to the memories that the park once held.

Ignis turned 51 this year. More than half a century old. He thought, for 22 years of his life, that he would reach this point and be steady at Noctis’ side. There were days where he would dream of what he could do for the world, as the King’s right hand man.

Ignis is not a resentful person, but he finds himself loathing the Astrals more often than not. He hasn’t stopped being bitter and angry and devastated from losing Noctis. They had a whole future laid out in front of them, one that held a strong Lucis and a powerful king.

Ignis is proud of his King of Light. Of Noctis, who ended the Starscourge and brought an end to the Night. But he is 51 years old and he wanted to be here with his closest friend. Funny, how this far down the line he can’t even remember the details of Noctis’ face.

The air shifts, getting minutely cooler, as the sun goes down. Autumn has begun to nip at the edges of the Summer air. In two months, it will have been eighteen years since Noctis took his final breath.

Ignis walks home through the darkening city, and does not think of his King anymore.

 

***

 

They go to the festival together, like they have for the last several years. The Council has outdone themselves this year, every parade float is a piece of art and the crowd is alive with energy and joy. Prompto doesn’t shake anymore as he gazes at monuments to Noctis. Gladio doesn’t feel his body vibrate with rage at the thought of his King dying and becoming nothing more than a symbol. Ignis doesn’t dwell too much on the fact that the future could have been so much more.

Prompto is in his wheelchair today, Gladio behind him pushing him along. Ignis talks idly about what went into the preparation for this year’s festival, highlighting the dedication of the volunteers who were in charge of all the set up for the parade. It’s nice, being amidst a population of people who are so in love with life, who never try to take it for granted. Not anymore, anyway.

Prompto looks to the sun where it sits just over the horizon, ready to set. The lanterns around the festival grounds begin to light up in brilliant white and blue. The sky burns vibrant orange in the background.

Gladio’s hand is steady and warm on his shoulder, and Ignis brushes his fingers along Prompto’s forearm as they push their way through the crowds. There’s an opening, up ahead where the parade is set to end. A statue is set in stone there, just revealed from under a tarp.

Noctis, the King of Light, sits in a throne made of carved, black marble. His head is haloed by the sun as it dips ever deeper into the sky.

Prompto smiles. “Heya, buddy. Ever think you’d get here? A statue in your honour?"

No one answers back, but Prompto could swear the sun got a little bit brighter before it finally fell below the horizon, and Insomnia was painted with the soft glow of the evening.

The next day, despite everything, the sun rises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow another fic, thanks for any and all feedback that i got in the comments!!! this was fun, idk if i'll do anything else for ffxv, but it's certainly tempting.
> 
> may eventually post an epilogue but at the same time i'm happy with where this left it
> 
> thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> okay so that's part one, this things about 12k? i have the other 2 chapters written and i'm going back and forth on an epilogue. i'll post the other parts over the next couple days. this is also completely unbetaed so if you see glaring mistakes, please please please let me know so i can fix them


End file.
